


Don't Care If This Is My Worst Mistake

by bigspicysenpai



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Crack Treated Seriously, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, NHL Lockout, Past Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann, canon adjacent, canon typical use of alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23455972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigspicysenpai/pseuds/bigspicysenpai
Summary: Five Times Parse and Snowy totally didn't go on a date and one time they definitely did...Crack fic because I wanted to write these two being horrible American tourists across Europe.Set in a fictional universe where there's a hockey league in Western Europe and they're playing there during the 2019-2020 NHL lockout... Because why else would there not be hockey right now?This fic is rated M, because true to form, hockey boys are foulmouthed, Dustin Snow especially.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Dustin "Snowy" Snow
Comments: 50
Kudos: 97





	1. Venice

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from Kim Petras's "Heart to Break" 
> 
> Currently writing in a quarantine induced haze, just like the rest of y'all. Isn't it wild how the Playoffs would be happening this week??? Wonder why it isn't? hahaha? (I'm not crying don't look at me.) 
> 
> References to Past Pimms will be super super minimal, only being used to establish an explanation for why they initially don't like each other.

_X_

It was a gray day in Venice. Seated a few seats away from him in this waterside bar, was none other than Dustin Snow, the Falconers’ goalie. Except now, he was Kent’s goalie. Not on the Aces, but the WEHL’s Venice Lions. Things had come to a head once again between the NHLPA and the owners, leading to yet another lockout. The 2019-2020 season was put on hold while they all played scattered across the worlds’ next most celebrated hockey leagues. 

The Aces and Falconers had been getting a reputation for having just about the nastiest rivalry as was possible for teams in completely opposite conferences. Twice a year the hockey world fixated on what had become routine bloodbaths, with both teams’ various players spending blisteringly high amounts of minutes in the box.

The media played no small role in escalating the tensions each year, but it really did come down to bad blood between the players. After 4 seasons of buildup, Kent couldn’t bear to be on the same ice as “He who shall not be named in the Aces locker room” without seeing red instantaneously. God help the hockey world if the Aces and the Falconers have to face each other in the cup finals. 

A side effect of this, was that it made him look like the world's biggest douche and a grade A homophobe. After the SCF Kiss, the SCF Proposal, and the first round exit (ha) that lead into NHL’s first gay wedding, Kent had declined to comment again and again and again.

He didn’t want to speak on the subject of his sexuality in a public manner because he didn’t think his management or the majority of his teammates would handle it well. Plus he didn’t want to add any more fuel to the dumpster fire the journos had constructed. No amount of pride tape or You Can Play videos could fix the way it looked on the ice. 

None of that mattered right now, fortunately. “He who shall not be named in the Aces locker room” was now spending his time playing in the KHL with his Alternate, Mashkov and Kent was here, not obligated to play against him until at least next October. 

First order of business, try to mend his relationship with his goalie so he doesn’t have to learn Italian. Snow was the only other native English speaker on the team and Kent knows from his Q days that he doesn’t have the skill or patience for language acquisition. So, _Operation Befriend Snow_ it is. Kent picked up his cocktail, which the bartender had assured him was the regular drink for this time of day, Kent slid over to the seat next to Snow. 

“Parson,” he said nonchalantly.

“Hey, Snow.” Kent replied, matching the tone. 

Snow took a sip of his beer, letting their words hang empty in the air. 

“How are you liking Venice so far?” Anything to break the awkward silence. No matter how pedestrian the conversation topic. 

“Its been raining for four days straight, the beer sucks, my girlfriend left me because she didn’t want to move to Europe, and now you’re talking to me.” 

“Damn, that’s — huh.” Kent was scrambling for something to say. Snow really wasn’t pulling any punches. 

“You could start with an apology for all the times you’ve tried to give me a concussion,” Snow added helpfully. 

“Yeah, I definitely owe you — several drinks.” Kent swirled the straw in his cocktail around trying to figure out what to say next. “Sorry I crashed your net all those times. Most of them weren’t intentional.” 

“I know a desperate forward when I see one Parson.” He took a long pull from his beer and made some sort of beleaguered expression back at the glass. “Its no secret that you fuckin’ hate losing to Zi —” 

“Please don’t bring him up,” Kent said quickly. “Yes, you’re right its because I can’t think straight when I see him. No its probably not the reason you expect. No, I don’t want to talk about it any more. If we do I’ll probably get pissed off.”

“You kind of suck at this whole apology thing, eh Parson?” Snow cracked a half smile at him. “By my records, you’re hardly in a position to ask me to do anything on your account.” 

“I — you’re right. Sorry, I just.” 

“No more excuses, Parson.” Snow said, finishing his beer. “Just start buying those drinks you owe me.” 

“Right, well… if the beer sucks, the bartender recommended this one. Said its what most everyone drinks here.” Kent took his first sip of the drink he’d been given. Some kind of spritzer, mixed with something bubbly. He sputtered immediately after taking a drink. 

“Hahaha!” Snow laughed heartily at Kent’s disgust. 

“That’s fucking foul, it’s so bitter.” Kent ordered a water just to cleanse his palate. “You want this one? I’m gonna get something else.” 

“Fuck, no,” Snow said. “I only drink cocktails when I’m on a beach, on a boat, or at a club.” 

“There’s literally water right outside.” 

“Okay, let me clarify, no, because the reaction you had made me never want to try that specific fuckin’ cocktail.” He pushed the drink closer to Kent. “I’ll stick to the beer, but I’ll let you pay for it.” 

“Thoughtful.” Kent drank the water and waved the bartender back over. The rain was starting to slow up, maybe they could enjoy downtown Venice soon. Hopefully the bartender didn’t make the mimosa he was about to order with whatever spirit had been in the spritz. 

“Hey, is that the sun?” Snow asked. 

“It definitely looks like it, but its been so long, I can hardly remember.” 

“Yeah, I bet you miss that desert of yours, Parse.” 

“This place is going to make me have to start tanning artificially, isn’t it.” 

Snow guffawed at Kent’s comment. 

“Don’t tell Tater I said this, but you might not be completely awful after all.” 

“My trophy case definitely agrees.” 

The bartender handed him his mimosa and Snow his beer. Kent set a 20 Euro bill on the bar. 

“The bigger the head, the more I chirp you, Parse.” 

“You know what they say about guys with big heads,” Kent punctuated the joke with a wink. 

“Hah, good one,” Snow chuckled, raising his glass. “To new teammates?” 

“Teammates,” Kent agreed, letting their glasses clink together.

“Even if you drink like someone’s aunt.” Snow chirped.

“Even if you drink like someone’s creepy uncle.” Kent fired back. 

“I’ve been called Uncle Snowy before.” 

“Gross, old man.”

"Oh, Fuck off, I'm only 34." 

Kent caught himself smiling as he rose his mimosa to his lips. Maybe this season wouldn't suck after all. 


	2. Amsterdam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are ready for more messy boys.
> 
> *edit* fixed a minor continuity error (that's what I get for posting daily and not waiting for a beta)

_X_

“Holy shit, this is the greatest city in the world.” Kent said for about, oh, the eighth time in the last half hour by Dustin’s count. They had beaten the Tigers in an amazing 37 save shutout that Dustin had to admit, had him sweating extra during the last minute. Since the game had ended, they decided to hit the town with the rest of the team. 

The rest of the team had moved on without them. Despite being (Dustin’s opinion, but stats don’t lie) the stars of the game, the Europeans didn’t want to party with the “tourists”. 

Kent had gotten White-Girl-Wasted at the first bar and Dustin definitely wasn’t going to leave him to fend for himself in a foreign city. Even if he was a jerk and a dirty player. Perhaps it was his inherent Canadian politeness foisting some sort of protective instinct onto him. 

“Fuckin’ hell! Dusty, You see that!?” Kent was pointing wildly as Dustin guided him by the shoulder through the narrow sidewalks along one of Amsterdam’s numerous canals. 

“Call me Snowy, and see what?” he replied. His patience was narrowing. Parson seemed insistent on being a hyperactive mess. 

“There’s a cat on that boat!” Parson exclaimed.

Whatever party boy reputation Parson had in the league was eroding by the second. Dustin would see that everyone he knew heard about tonight. 

“Another cat, seriously?” 

“There’s cats everywhere here! It’s a cat paradise.” 

“I noticed,” he said, gruffly. Dustin didn't hate cats, he was just sick of hearing about them. 

“The cat at the pub was the best though. She was fat and fluffy and let me pet her all night.”

“All the chicks at that bar and you just wanted to pet cats?” Dustin was dumbfounded but he wasn’t blind, Parse was one of the most attractive players in the league. “You coulda had your pick of any fuckin’ girl there to wheel and all you could talk about was the cats.” 

“Not interested in girls,” Parse said, quickly. “Just worried about my girl.” 

“Didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” 

“No, no girlfriend.” Parse said, his face reddened. Was it a blush, or the alcohol? “My girl, Kit. She’s staying with my sister while m’here.” 

“And Kit is —?” 

“My fuckin’ CAT!” Parson shouted, suddenly upset. He stepped away from Dustin, into the street. “I just — didn’t want to move her across the fuckin’ ocean. She would’ve had to have some fuckin’ — wait time. They’d keep her locked up so to make sure she’s not gonna make the animals here sick. I couldn't do that to her."

Of course. It’s a fucking cat. The only thing Parson wants to talk about today. 

“We can go sit in another pub and maybe they’ve got a cat you can talk to.” 

“I —” Parse started. 

“No more booze for you though. You’re getting water.” 

“That — sounds like a good idea.” Parson seemed appeased for the moment. 

“Good, now get out of the fucking street.” Dustin grabbed Kent’s hand and yanked him back over the curb.

“Hey!” 

“Hey, What?” Dustin said back to him, jamming an admonishing finger into Parson's chest. “You want Sportsnet to have a headline about you being hit by a car in the Netherlands?” 

Parson made another grumpy face at him. Dustin knew he was right, so he wasn’t going to argue with a drunk asshole any longer. Dustin started moving them back in the direction of the square they had passed not too long ago. Parson’s arm found its way back onto Dustin’s shoulder. 

Dustin searched for a nearby pub that wasn’t the one they had split from the team at. The rest of the Lions were probably out at some nightclub working on a hangover for their early train trip tomorrow. A hockey team on a train. That was a new one for him, another interesting difference courtesy of the Western Europe hockey league experience. 

Parson gasped loudly and disentangled his arm from Dustin’s. He was gawking at one of the houseboats moored on the opposite side of the canal. It looked like it was a house anyway. Upon closer inspection it was fenced in. And filled with cats. Great. 

“What. Is. That!” Parson shouted. In the open, on the street. No regard for the passers by, now staring at this clearly deranged individual having a meltdown about some crazy cat lady’s house. 

“Sorry about him,” Dustin explained to an older couple Parse was blocking from using the sidewalk. “He’s drunk and he really loves cats, evidently.” 

Dustin pulled Kent aside to let the couple pass, unsure if they even spoke English, as they hadn’t bothered to give him a response. 

“I want to go there,” Kent said, grasping the air in the guise of an actual 5 year old. 

A guy in a hipstery sweater and corduroys combo approached the two of them. 

“This is de Poezenboot,” he explained helpfully. “It is a place to —” he hesitated for a second, clearly pondering his English. “Bring home cats?” he tried. 

Parson crowed, triumphant.

“Kent, no.” Dustin immediately said, restraining him by looping his arms around Parson’s waist. Kent looked like he was about to jump into the canal and swim over at any second. 

“Sorry, man.” Dustin explained, trying to hold back a lithe, squirming, fully muscled professional athlete from jumping into some likely nasty city water. “He misses his cat, left it back in the States. 

The man laughed at Kent’s enthusiasm. 

“They are closed for the evening,” he said. Kent went limp in Dustin’s arms. Hipster Guy scratched at his little hipster goatee. “There is a coffee shop nearby that is having cats? You two are open?” 

_Open? To the idea?_

“Thanks, dude.” Snowy released Parson from his grip as his attention was now shifted to the guy talking to them. “I’ve been trying to find a place to sober him up.” 

“It is your first time in the city?” he asked. He gestured forward, guiding them to walk with him. 

“Yep!” Parse supplied. “Fuckin’ love it. Best city ever, cats everywhere.” 

“We’re here for work,” Dustin cut in. 

It was unlikely the guy knew much about hockey, given that it wasn’t the sport of choice for 98.05% of people in this part of Europe, but you can never be too careful. He only hoped Parse took the hint. He was the more famous one, after all. 

The man pointed to an unassuming building across the street, a narrow black townhouse that blended in with most everything else in Amsterdam at this time of night. They crossed at a brisk pace, taking advantage of a break in traffic. Kent, for his part, managed to trip over an uneven piece of cobblestone jutting out just before the curb. Dustin’s goalie reflexes kicked in and he caught Kent before his face came even close to the pavement. 

Dustin pulled Kent back to his feet from his underarms. The fucker had the nerve to be smiling. 

“Well, how about that,” Kent said, grinning like the idiot he was. “That makes 38 saves tonight, helluva streak, Dus’.” 

“Sing my praises later, catboy,” he said, tersely. Dustin had had it up to here with Parse’s antics tonight. “You’re coming in here and sitting down for a while.” 

The group grabbed a small table (if it could be called that) with seats that were more cushion than chair. Dustin was immediately bombarded by the scent of weed. 

_Oh, Right. Amsterdam._

He was going to have to take an extra shower and put his clothes in a ziplock after this. Hipster Guy was speaking Dutch? Danish? German? (whichever one they spoke here) to the server. 

“Pss psss psssssss.” Kent had found a tinsel ball and was already in the process of luring a striped tabby over to their table. He was inching his way out of his seat and onto the floor. Dustin covered his face with his hand.

“You two are together long?” Hipster Guy asked, like it was nothing. Like it hadn’t just pulled one hundred percent of Dustin’s attention away from the cat whisperer disguised as an NHL captain. Dustin dropped his hand from his face to the table. 

“We’re not.” he said, abruptly. 

“Oh, I’m —” the guy was reeling. Probably not sure what to do with the conversation. “When I said, “Open.” I made a wrong assumption.” 

_Oh._

“Haha, nah,” Dustin scoffed. “We just work together. I’m here to keep him from drowning in an attempt to befriend a cat.” 

“He’s not my type,” Kent said, lucid out of nowhere. The cat was now in his arms and he was returning to his seat. “You draw your eyeliner really well, though.” 

  
  


“I don’t —” Dustin halted, his _naturally_ dark eyelashes tabled for the moment to put the math together in his head. No girlfriend, won’t talk about his former “best friend”, does a ton of You Can Play work, noticed Dustin’s eyes… 

“The hell you mean I’m not your type, asshole? Vezina trophy winners not good enough for ya?“

Kent looked at him, wearing a perplexed expression. Dustin had forgotten himself momentarily, lost in Kent’s eyes while they shared this beat of silence. He had unusually smooth skin for a hockey player, his lips weren’t chapped either… 

_Oh, Fuck me. He’s actually hot._

Dustin’s limited experience with his Bi panic left him scrambling for what to say next. It had been a while since he had admitted to himself that he liked a guy. Everyone in the league would say Parson is in the top ten, right? Why does Dustin know who his top ten hottest hockey players are? Goddamnit, he’s not going to be able to talk to Lundqvist the next time he sees him. 

“Ready to order?” the server said in lightly accented English, saving Dustin from the awkward silence. 

“I’ll take a black coffee.” he said without looking at the menu. “A pitcher of water for him.” 

Parse had the cat sitting upright on his lap, playing with its little paws. 

“This one, she’s my type.” he said in a singsong voice. The cat seemed unbothered. Must be used to having people in various states of inebriation hold it. 

“When do you leave?” Hipster Guy asked, reminding Dustin that he was experiencing this in public. 

“We’re on our way to Brussels tomorrow morning, 6 AM.” 

“Maybe you can look me up when you are next here?” The guy left his number on a paper napkin and passed it to Dustin. 

_He’s definitely not my type._

Hipster Guy wasn’t going to be hanging out with Dustin every day for the next three months though. The cat relaxed into Kent’s lap. Parson’s arm found its way back onto Dustin’s shoulder. 

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> De Poezenboot is in fact a real place. https://depoezenboot.nl/nl. Literally "Cat boat" in Dutch. Also sounds like Puss in Boots :) Kent would literally never leave there.


	3. 6:30AM to Brussels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hockey boys on a train. Because you can't be in Western Europe and not be on a train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told y'all I was writing this in an isolation induced mania right? The story continues! 
> 
> Check the end notes for a possible trigger warning.

_X_

6:59 AM and they’re just now boarding the train to Brussels. They were supposed to have left thirty minutes ago. Thankfully they didn’t have a game today, they were just getting to the city and playing tomorrow night. Dustin was the first person checked out of the hotel, the majority of their bags had already been taken by the team staff, so there wasn’t really any excuse for people to be late. They’d found an excuse to be late.He was pretty sure he was the only person that wasn’t some level of hung over.

Parson made himself comfortable in the booth Dustin had selected for himself. It was starting to become almost routine, hanging out together. Kent sat opposite him and set his bag in the other chair. Their remaining teammates filtered past the booth without more than a wave or a simple hello. Kent closed the door after a while, clearly not wanting anyone else to squeeze in with them. Not that they would have. 

“Man, fuck, Vincenzo,” Parse said, after the last of the team had passed. “I tried to give him a nickname and he totally blew me off.” 

“Not a fan of being called Vinny?” Dustin asked, smiling. 

“I thought it fit better than Zoey at least.” Parson shrugged.

“They don’t seem to do the nickname thing here.” 

Parson propped his head up with an arm, occupying the majority of the table that was between them. The morning sun reflected off his D&G shades, bouncing rays all over their little cabin. The operator made an announcement in  _ Dutch? _ And then English, indicating the train was departing. 

The train lurched forward as it left the station, downtown Amsterdam fading into rougher outskirts, then countryside as they sped on to their next destination. The light played off of Kent’s lenses as he — snoozed? Dustin wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or just being quiet. The reflections dancing about the booth took him somewhere. 

That somewhere was on the spectrum of a childhood memory, getting annoyed at a sibling realizing the gameboy made a glare in the car. To the artsy lighting in a foreign film one of his exes made him watch. Dustin decided it was better if hockey players didn’t wax poetic, about lighting of all things. 

A soft knock came at the door, which Dustin cracked, revealing one of the railway attendants. they took a breakfast order for the two of them. Parson hadn’t budged, so he must actually be asleep. Dustin just guessed and ordered what he would want if he had a hangover, plus an orange juice. 

When they returned with the food, Dustin had to rouse Kent, so they could put the food down on the little table. 

“Hmm?” Kent hummed, surprisingly relaxed compared to his earlier tone. 

“Breakfast is here.” Dustin replied. 

“Oh, what are we having?” 

“I got you toast and a fried egg. Standard hangover stuff.” 

“We’re going to Belgium, though,” Parson argued, unwrapping the silverware anyway. 

“The fuck’s that got to do with anything?” 

“It’s like they say, right? When in Rome?” Parse was smiling at him again. It might be charming if Dustin wasn’t absolutely perplexed by the conversation.

“Literally, what are you on right now?” 

“No man, you just don’t get it. When in Rome, let them eat cake.” He pointed his plastic cutlery at Dustin while he spoke. “We’re going to Belgium, so you have to have waffles.” 

Dustin just looked at him in awe. Parson was mixing phrases, meanings, expressions. But damn if he didn’t look confident as hell saying the wrong thing. 

“Okay you’re definitely high.” Parson was open mouth laughing at Dustin’s confusion. “I mean, logically, I know you went to the Aces at eighteen.”

“Seventeen,” Parson corrected, between bites.

“Whatever,” Dustin waved his hand at Kent. “All I’m saying is, you didn’t go to college and it shows.” 

“Bro,” he said, suddenly serious. “Can I level with you?” 

Dustin nodded. 

“I barely graduated high school because of how much I was focused on juniors.” 

“Do you regret not trying in school?” Dustin asked. He was genuinely curious. Last night he’d seen the beginnings of Kent’s public persona give way to reality. Tater, forgive him, he was actually starting to care about “The Rat”. 

“I mean, clearly its working for me,” Parson said matter of factly. 

“You haven’t given any thought to what you’re going to do after hockey?” 

“You mean other than being a living legend, making appearances, and giving speeches for money?” 

Never mind, Tater is right. Parson is irredeemable.

“HAH!” Parson laughed. “I cannot believe your face right now. Do you honestly think I’m that conceited?” 

Dustin exhaled what felt like the entirety of the contents of his lungs. 

“You play the part really well,” Dustin admitted. “You could teach acting classes.”

“Nah, man.” He cleared his plate and moved it aside. “My sister got all the brains in the family, she’s in financial planning, so I’ve got my money pretty well sorted. If by some miracle I don’t end up with a job in the Aces organization or broadcasting or whatever, I’m good.” 

“Sounds like you’ve got it figured out.” Dustin wished he had it figured out. He was getting by with his apartment in Providence, but NHL teams didn’t pay their goalies like they paid their forwards. He could live, sure, but he didn’t have much of a plan.

“You went to college though?” 

“Yep, got drafted by the Flames, got moved around as people got traded, finished school in Rhode Island.” 

“What’d you study?” 

“Graphic design.” 

“That seems kind of random.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Usually all the sports people try something sports related, like PT, or something really easy like hotel management. Graphic design though?” 

“I was travelling, like all the time. I had to play back-up goalie sometimes for NHL teams. I wanted something that could be done on my laptop, so I didn’t have to worry about missing lectures.” 

“Hunh,” Parson crossed his arms. “So can you like, actually draw?” 

“If your next question is going to be can you draw me, I’m not drawing you.” 

“But,” 

“No.” Dustin said firmly. He had no clue why everyone that finds out he studied art asks him to draw them. “I’m an NHL goalie, not some guy doing caricatures on the boardwalk.” 

“Fair enough.” The conversation died back down after that. 

The attendant returned to take their plates and refill their drinks. Parson stuck with the orange juice. Dustin applauded himself for his intuition. 

“I never thanked you,” Parson said, after the attendant had left. 

“For?” 

“Staying with me last night.” 

Dustin knew what Kent meant, but his cheeks warmed at the idea.

“Bro, it was no problem,” he asserted. Since when does he talk like this? 

“You don’t have to hold back on my account, dude. I know I’m a fucking handful when I’m drunk. It usually takes half my team to keep me from doing stupid shit in Vegas and it’s the easiest city in the world to do stupid shit.” 

“Hey, at least I can hold you down,” Dustin said with a shrug.

“Good to know.” Parson’s eyebrows raised over his sunglasses. 

“No — I” Dustin was flustered by the exploitation of his bad phrasing. “Tater’s like double your size so it was easy.” 

Parson lowered his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose. He sipped his orange juice very loudly. 

“Go on,” he urged. The bastard. 

“Ughhhhh, fuck you.” Dustin said, defeated.His face was burning up now. He had to look away.

Parson was just sitting there laughing his ass off. 

When Dustin finally had the composure to look back, Parson was wiping away a tear. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “You just made it too easy.” 

“Whatever.” 

“But in all seriousness,” Parson continued. “Thanks for looking out. I probably said some weird fucking shit, but ignore most of it, please. I was fucking trashed.” 

“You mostly just talked about cats, it was kind of embarrassing.” 

“There were so many there, dude, how could I not?” 

“To the point that I was having to restrain you from jumping into a river to go pet one?” 

“That’s— also par for the course.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Just be grateful I didn’t make you look at my private instagram.” 

Dustin’s thoughts wandered, what sort of photos did Kent have on a private page? He was suddenly reminded of the Body Issue Parson had done. Talk about creative lighting. The one with the sparkler and the lens flare was especially… No. 

“Some random hipster thought we were a couple.” Dustin’s useless brain spat out. 

“Whoah, what?” Kent asked. 

“No — it’s not like we were doing anything,” Dustin backpedaled.

“O — kay?” 

“He was explaining about this, like, cat adoption place? I was — holding you by the waist to stop you from diving in the canal. Then I asked him if he knew where we could get you some water.” 

“Fascinating.” 

“Then we went to a coffee shop and he tried to give me his number for a three-way or something.” 

“And what did I say during all this?” 

“You uh, weren’t paying much attention? You made a beeline to the place’s cat and played with it instead of talking to us.” 

“Sounds like me.” 

“You also said I wasn’t your type.” 

“Haha! And the other guy?” Parson was awfully calm about all of this. 

“He was just a gross hipster, greasy hair, dumb goatee, wearing some colorblocked sweater, coudoroy pants, smelled like bad weed.” 

“Ew, then what?” 

“Uh, nothing really? I told him we were leaving today and then threw out his number when we got back to the hotel.” 

“Sounds like a fun night, wish I was there.” 

“You — definitely were.” 

“Maybe I’ll have one less cocktail next time we’re in Amsterdam.” 

“Maybe three less.” 

“This is why you’re not my type, Snowy.” 

“What?” Was Parson implying that he’d thought about — 

“Oh come on,” Kent said. “Don’t play dumb.” 

Dustin wasn’t playing dumb. He didn’t know what Parson meant by that. Kent rolled his eyes. 

“You got way too flustered just now, and —” he said pointing with conviction. “Your description of that dude was way too detailed. I’m willing to put money on the table that you’re into dudes.” 

“I’ve never —” Dustin stammered.

“Ah, ah!” Parson said, wagging his finger. “I didn’t ask for your history or lack of history. I don’t want to know. I’m just calling it as I see it.” 

“I’m bi, so what?” Dustin flushed, saying it aloud. 

“See? Was that so hard?” Kent took a long drink of his orange juice and set his sunglasses aside. He smirked. “Trust me, we’re playing on the same team in more ways than one.” 

“And?” 

“Obviously, my secret isn’t much of a secret,” Kent said. “But I’ll keep yours. Just know you’ve got someone to talk to about it, if you want.” 

Dustin really didn’t want to talk about it with Kent. That path led to danger. His newfound realization at thirty four that he was bi didn’t make him want to gossip like a teen about crushes. Especially when he was still noticing the beautiful sheen of Kent’s irises in the morning sun. 

The train started to slow down. They were pulling into the station in Brussels. Had it really been two hours already? 

“So now what?” Dustin asked. 

“Well, I still really want a waffle.”

Dustin laughed heartily, the awkward tension forgotten. 

“Oh my god, just say you don’t know anything else about Belgium and go.” 

“Get fucked,” Parson said pointedly. “Like you know anything about Belgium, mister college education.” 

  
  


“I happen to know that Belgium hosts the EU headquarters — and!” he started. “They also are a country that knows their beer.” 

“Ugh, don’t talk to me about alcohol ever again.” Kent said, putting his sunglasses back on. “This hangover better not last much longer.” 

“First time, Kenny?” Dustin chirped. 

Kent downed the remaining orange juice and flipped Dustin the bird. 

“I’ll show you a first time.” Kent snapped back. “Also, call me Parse, never Kenny. If you want a chance at ever being my type.” 

“Sure thing, Parse.” 

“Great, now are we getting waffles or not?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kent sort of bullies Snowy into coming out to him. It's kind of a dick move imo and wouldn't recommend doing this to anyone in real life, even if you're another LGBT+ person. Let them come to you! 
> 
> Starts at "Oh come on" and ends at "Obviously my secret..."


	4. Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent isn't really the museum type. Snowy, surprisingly is. Kent makes sexual jokes, *Exeunt, pursued by internalized homophobia*

_X_

It was the biggest art museum in the world and sue him, but Kent was already bored as hell. He could appreciate a painting every now and again, sure. He knew it was pretty, but they had to wait like half an hour to get in and after fifteen minutes the novelty had worn off. He was keeping pace with Snowy, though. They were just starting to get along and Kent didn’t want to brush off an interest of his because he was bored. The man had carried him through his hyperfixation on the cats in Amsterdam, so he owed him a few hours of reparation. 

Another thing, was that Kent’s sense of direction was shit and the palace housing the museum was by all accounts, a fucking labyrinth. Snowy had the map, and while he was sure he could get outside if he really wanted to, he didn’t really expect that he’d be able to find Snowy after. Dustin led them up a flight of stairs. A headless winged figure sat at the top of the landing, then the stairs split into two directions. 

“Which way we goin’?” Kent asked. 

“Left.” 

“‘Kay.” 

The stair led them to another massive gallery, the decor was impressive, walls, ceilings, tile all dressed to the nines. People were crowded along the sides, gazing at the works on display. Hundreds of cell phones and cameras were out taking photos.

“Ugh, just look at the works and don’t take photos,” Snowy complained. 

“Wow, I would have never guessed you were an art snob.” 

“I mean, they’re all just posting that they’re here. My guess is ninety percent of them don’t even care about the art. They’re just here because it’s an “ _ Ohhh, I’m in Paris, like my facebook status.” _ sort of moment.” Dustin’s air quotes and mocking tone made Kent laugh. 

“To each their own, man.” Kent shrugged. “What do you want to do here, flex your art major? You’re just going to come and look at paintings made 500 years ago and not commemorate the occasion?” 

“A lot of this has historical significance,” he postured. 

“Oh, god, you’re reminding me of someone,” Kent moaned. “Why does it matter anyway? The people that made this shit are all dead and they’re important and culture and whatever because someone said so?” 

“That’s —” Snowy started. “A fair point and decent analysis.” 

“Hey now,” Kent said, putting up his hands. “I know I give good analysis, but usually not this early in the relationship.” 

“Gah, shut up!” Snowy said, putting his palm over his face. “I can’t believe the Aces’ management ever let you do interviews or appear in public.” 

“It’s the burden of captaincy, unfortunately. My adoring public has to be blessed with my  _ visage _ from time to time.” Kent posed dramatically with a hand over his cheek, pouting his lips. “Admit it,  _ mon cher _ , you’re smitten with this mug too.” 

“I’m going to go stand in line over there for the Mona Lisa,” Snowy said, blushing, but ignoring Kent’s theatrics. “If you want to keep practicing your grade school French, you can stay over there by the exit.” 

“Hey, no wait —” Kent said following Snowy over to the line. “I’ll behave, I promise.”

“Somehow I doubt that, Parson.” 

Kent followed and waited. When they got into the gallery where the painting was being displayed, he was dismayed to discover that the crowd waiting to see the painting only got larger. He sucked back in the sigh he was about to let out. 

After what felt like an eternity, they reached the front of the room. 

“Its a lot smaller than I expected,” Dustin said, blissfully unaware of the reprisal he was about to face. 

“That’s what she —” 

“ _ Silence s'il vous pla _ _ î _ _ t,  _ Quiet please,” the security guard droned, ruining Kent’s amazing joke. 

“Parson, seriously?” Snowy whispered. 

“You just keep walking into them, I can’t help it.” Kent replied, also keeping his voice low. 

Snowy rolled his eyes and continued looking at the painting like he hadn’t seen it before. 

Kent decided he was going to do the thing everyone else here was doing and pulled out his phone. It was the most famous painting in the world after all. 

“Snowy, hey!” he whispered with urgency. 

Snow turned, with an annoyed expression, but Kent put up a peace sign and took the selfie. Snowy looked pissed, but Kent was putting it on Instagram anyway, there was no chance he’d be able to talk him into a retake. 

They left the room as Kent was finishing up his Instagram post. 

“Hashtag la vie parisienne, hashtag hockey in Paris.” Kent said once they were out of earshot of the guards. 

“Do you want to see the arms and armor?” Snowy offered, not responding to Kent’s prodding. 

“That sounds cool.”

“Okay, there’s like two more paintings I want to see in this wing before that, but we’ll get there.” 

“We can stay all day, I honestly don’t mind, dude.” 

“Its not really possible to see everything here in a day.” Snowy unfolded the map he’d stuck in his pants pocket. He’d requested that they dress up to go to the museum, so they were in game day suits. “There’s like eight hundred rooms open to the public here, so we have to pick and choose.” 

Kent’s mind boggled at the size of the map. He’d seen the exterior, he knew it was huge, but like, someone really used to live here.

“Damn, and I thought my place in Vegas was big.” 

“Yeah it’s fucking massive.” Snowy refolded the map and directed Kent forward. “There’s apparently a café just over there if you want to grab a drink or something while you wait.” 

“I’m here cuz I wanna spend time with you Snowy,” Kent said, grabbing his hand. “I’m almost fuckin’ thirty years old. If I can’t do something I don’t necessarily like for someone I care about; I’m the person you thought I was on the train.” 

Snowy looked like he was stunned by Kent’s honesty. He didn’t say anything. Kent decided to be impulsive and leaned in close. 

“So do you want to kiss now? Or at the Eiffel tower?” He whispered in Snowy’s ear. 

Snowy jerked his hand out of Kent’s grip and was blushing up a storm. He almost smacked someone behind them in the hallway with the speed that he backed up. Kent couldn’t help but laugh at his near collision. 

“Ugh, and to think I was going to buy you dinner later for putting up with this,” Snowy said, still visibly frustrated. 

“You still can.” 

“Nope, I’m having them put you in the dungeon.” 

“But, babe, we haven’t even discussed safewords yet!” Kent chirped. 

“That’s it, I’m leaving you here to fend for yourself.” Snowy stormed off, leaving Kent in the crowd of onlookers that witnessed their whispered “argument”. He had definitely taken it a step too far. 

Kent eventually found him looking at a painting (shocker) a few rooms away. It was a dark stormy scene. Several haggard looking people clinging to a raft. A few were facing away, waving for help. Kent could relate. 

Kent stood beside Snowy and nudged his shoulder. Snowy didn’t respond. 

“I’m sorry.” Kent said, his tone serious. “I got carried away teasing you and I shouldn’t have pushed you with something like that. Clearly it wasn’t okay.”

“I’m still new to this,” Snowy said, making a wobbly motion with his hands. “Not — one hundred percent straight thing.” 

“Wait, really?” Kent said with bewilderment. 

“Yeah, when it was clear I was sticking to hockey, I —” Snowy got closer to Kent so they were shoulder to shoulder. “Since not being with a guy was sort of like, a choice for me, I just — tried to block all those thoughts out.” 

“Sorry I’m —” 

“No, you shouldn’t have to hold back for my sake, God I sound like a fucking prude, it’s just —” Snowy looked at Kent, his expression was difficult for Kent to place. Worried? Scared? “I hear guys at practice say way raunchier shit all the time, but imagining it — with — you.” 

“Oh, damn.” Kent’s mouth said before his brain could stop him. 

“This isn’t the best place to discuss this, probably.” Snow looked back at the painting, cheeks rosy yet again.

“Maybe I can buy dinner?” Kent offered. 

“We’re going to Les Champs Élysées too,” Snowy said. It seemed he’d relocated his resolve. “I’m fining you the cost of a designer suit for pain and suffering.” 

“What’s the point of a multi-million dollar contract if you don’t flex it every once in a while?” 

“You know, I think they keep the guillotine they used during the revolution somewhere nearby?” 

Kent smiled back at Snowy. Humor was a good sign. He had been serious about the kissing, but it seemed like it might be too soon to bring it up again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kent just keeps pushing, huh? It's starting to seem like things may go somewhere between them after all.


	5. Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent Parson wakes up early, to be sappy, and ends up giving a short WGS lesson along the way?

_X_

“Dude, what are you waiting for?” Kent called from ten paces ahead of him. 

“I’m trying not to die on these fucking stairs?” 

“Aw, Dus’, where’s your sense of adventure?” 

“Must have left it at the hotel,” he replied, snarkily. 

“Well you’d better find it, if we want to be able to make it to the top of the hill before sunrise!”

“How in the hell are you so chipper this fuckin’ early?” Dustin grumbled, making it up to where Kent was waiting. 

“Yaknow?” Kent said, moving into his space. “I’m normally not a morning person, but this seems like its going to be a great memory, so I’m looking forward to it!” 

“Two things,” Dustin said, holding up two fingers. “One: Who the fuck are you and what have you done with Kent Parson. And two: That was so sappy I feel at least 50% more gay just from hearing it.” 

“That’s what I like to hear! Congrats, bro!” Kent shouted. He slapped Dustin’s ass in a way that Dustin suspected wasn’t entirely congratulatory. 

“Hey, now.” Dustin chided, “Just because we’re the only fucking people on this mountain at dark ‘o’ fuckin’ clock doesn’t give you free reign to be as handsy as you want.” 

“You’re no fun anymore,” Kent pouted. Then he flashed a bright smile at Dustin. “Come on, only twenty minutes ‘til sunrise!”

“They better have an espresso bar up there, or so help me,” Dustin groaned as he pushed himself to keep pace with Kent. 

“Dus’, it’s fucking France. I think they get fined if there isn’t an espresso machine every square kilometer.” 

Dustin laughed, he was staying just a couple stairs behind Parse now. They were narrow, because Europe, so they couldn’t go side by side even if they wanted to. Parse was wearing compression shorts with an Aces logo on the seat. Dustin knew this was intentional. He didn’t especially mind the view, even if he was suspicious of Parse’s motives.

His crush was out in the open as of the last few days, and Kent seemed to be (mostly) waiting for him to make the first move. Dustin appreciated his patience, because, fucking hell, it was intimidating to think about being romantic with a guy in public. 

They rounded another switch in the stairs, climbing this massive hill that split Nice’s beaches in two. Apparently there was a park and some ancient ruins at the top, but they were going because Kent wanted to see the sun rise over the mountains. It was a good workout, but having played a game last night, Snowy wasn’t super thrilled with working out again, especially a leg workout like this. 

“Fuuuuck,” Dustin said when the switchbacks ended and they found stairs going up and around the side of the hill. “My glutes are going to be sooo fucking sore I won’t want to sit on the train.” 

Kent turned and flashed a devilish grin. 

“I am withholding chirping you over that, to preserve your delicate sensibilities, but just know that the thought was there.” Kent said, after turning back away. 

“Ugh, you’re such a child.”

“But you like me aaaanywayyy!” Kent sang out into the early morning. 

“Yeah…” he admitted. He hated how embarrassed he got saying it, even so quietly.

“Hey! You said yes! I’m so proud of you!” Kent exclaimed. 

He’d been laying on the praise really thick lately. Dustin supposed it was a sort of immersion therapy tactic. Boosting his confidence little by little about speaking his feelings out loud. Dustin’s face felt warm. It was working.

“I did!” he laughed. “I did and it feels good!” 

“That’s so —” Kent started, then stopped walking. 

“What?” 

“You were really cute, just now.” 

Dustin blushed at Kent’s compliment. He was a thirty-four year old man, with scruffy features and a wide muscly frame. He didn’t exactly see himself as cute, but fuck. Parson’s comments were completely undoing him. He pushed it down for the moment and kept walking. 

“Hey,” Dustin said, tapping on Parson’s shoulder when they were at the next landing. 

“Hm?” Kent turned to face him.

Riding the feeling and the wave of confidence Kent had given him, Dustin wrapped one of his hands around Kent’s waist, and the other behind his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Parson was initially shocked, but relaxed into it. He put his arms around Dustin’s back and pressed their bodies together even more. 

They made out in place for a good minute before Dustin had to come up for air. He felt a pull in the pit of his stomach, his blood was pumping, and he felt like he was alive for the first time in a long time. He let go of Kent and took a few steps back. 

“You good?” Kent asked. He looked concerned, like Dustin was going to bolt. 

“Yeah — that was a lot.” 

“I’ll say.” 

“Just a little — overwhelmed,” Dustin said. His breathing was shaky and he was experiencing an unfamiliar mix of arousal and pure terror. 

“I tend to have that effect on people,” Parson said with a smirk. 

“Oh, get fucked, Parse.” Dustin shuddered.

“I’m trying to, Dustin,” Parson had the nerve to chirp him right now, unbelievable.

“Can you not be a tool for like, five seconds.” Dustin had to sit down. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Kent said. “Should I touch you or no?” 

Dustin felt like if Kent touched him now he might explode. So instead he shook his head no. 

“Okay, so, I think you’re experiencing what we in the business call a panic attack.” Kent said. He moved around Dustin, leaving his field of vision. “I’m gonna stand over here on this stair behind you, so you can’t see me. What I need you to do is breathe very evenly.” 

Dustin tried to follow the instructions. His first breaths were ragged, but Kent began to count out loud from behind him. Dustin brought his breathing into sync with Kent’s counting. After a little while he felt a lot better. He wasn’t shaking anymore, so that was a start. 

“Thanks,” Dustin said. He turned to face Kent, but kept his distance. “I thought I was ready, but clearly I moved too fast.” 

“You surprised me, too.” Kent gave him a soft smile. 

“I feel like I’m in high school all over again.” Dustin said, “Acting like a total fuckin’ idiot and losing my cool over one stupid kiss.” 

“I happened to think it was a great kiss.” 

“Er, thanks.” Dustin looked at his shoes. Why was this affecting him so much? He’d been with tons of different girls and he hadn’t been so fuckin’ squirrely about any of it. 

“So, we only have 8 minutes till sunrise.” Kent said, cutting through the tension. 

“How much further?” 

“Not sure, really, but we should start walking.” 

Kent started off again. This hill must have close to five hundred steps, probably more if you counted the places where it made rounds and the offshoots for different observation areas. Unfortunately they were staying on the West side of the mountain, so the lookouts weren’t useful to them. 

“I have — a theory, if you’ll humor me a minute, Dustin.”

“I’m listening.” 

“So, paraphrasing some stuff I remember from my therapist, so bear with me.” He cleared his throat, “We have this fun thing in our heads called internalized homophobia.” 

“Yeah?”

“Even if you’ve been with a hundred girls before or whatever, that doesn’t bother you one bit, right?” 

“Right.” 

“Even though you knew you were bi for however long, admitting it, but not acting on it, now your brain is reacting negatively.” 

“So like, what? I didn’t let myself date guys and now my brain is rejecting the idea?” 

“Right, I mean people of all kinds in the LGBT spectrum have some sort of shame or guilt or whatever about their thoughts and shit.” 

“Even if you’ve been out and proud since thirteen?” 

“Yeah, sadly even them. Because no matter how much we try, parts of our upbringing and fuckin’ society tell us we’re wrong. What we think and feel is a bad thing.” 

“So that’s why I’m freaking the hell out about this?” 

“I think so.” 

They were quiet for a minute. Dustin would have to look into it more later, maybe ask his therapist during their weekly video call. 

“Thanks for the lesson, Parse.” 

“I’ve got a few things going on up here,” he said, knocking on his head. “Not much, but sometimes I have good ideas.” 

  
  


They finally made it to the top of the hill. Dustin saw the ruins on the left, but Parse was already jogging across the park to get to the balcony on the other side. Dustin walked, but he made it just in time to see the sun come up over the horizon. The amber glow illuminated the gorgeous water of the sea below them and the lush greenery of the mountains in the distance. Several boats bobbed in the water, heading out to fish. 

“Alright, you were right,” Dustin admitted.”This is pretty fucking magical.” 

“Can I hold your hand?” Kent asked.

“Sure.” It was such a simple thing, but after the meltdown he’d had over the kiss, Dustin appreciated his patience. 

They sat in the grass atop the hill, watching the sun wash over the Azure Coast. A few other people passed by, morning joggers, dog walkers, elderly couples. Snowy felt brief flares in his gut telling him to let go of Kent’s hand, but he resisted. Eventually he let himself relax completely. 

“So what now?” he asked Kent. 

“I saw a café where we can get your espresso right over there by the parking lot.” 

“Are you seriously telling me we could have taken a cab here?” 

“But think about all the good conversations we had on the way up!” Kent said, grinning at him again. He stood, blocking Dustin from the sun. 

“I’m about three seconds away from pushing you off of this cliff.” 

“You’ll have to catch me first!” Kent ran off, presumably in the direction of the café. 

Dustin got up, brushed the grass off his shorts, and started after him. They had a homestand in Venice coming up. Hopefully he’d muster the courage to ask Kent out properly while they were there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, doing this fic daily, with very little planning between chapters is proving to be an interesting test of my abilities. This was going to be a lot sillier of a fic, since its a rarepair that 90% of the fandom likely won't bother giving a second (first) glance. My brain keeps telling me that I need to make it serious though. What started out as a concept of people being bad tourists has sort of become a tool for me to explore my feelings about the queer experience, way more than I tend to in a fic. 
> 
> Also the chapter is referencing Parc de la Colline du Chateau which is an absolutely amazing park in Nice. Ancient Greek ruins, ocean views, waterfalls, hundreds of fucking stairs.


	6. +1 Venice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snowy and Kent have their "first" date.

_X_

**Dustin:** any food allergies/ things you won’t touch? 

**Me:** Nothing spicy, I don’t fuck with olives, anchovy/sardines, artichoke, squash. No uncooked tomatoes. 

**Dustin:** Why the fuck are you living in Italy. 

**Me:** Highest bidder, next question? 

**Dustin:** See you at seven? 

**Me:** Cool, I’ll bring wine? 

**Dustin:** Bring whichever kind you like, I’m sticking to my beer. 

**Me:** Lame, but okay. 

  
  


Kent was beyond thrilled that Snowy had finally mustered up the courage to finally ask him out. The waiting had been awful, but Kent knew from experience that if he was going to force the issue beyond his standard chirping (his straight friends had to put up with it too) that it would lead to disaster before anything even started.

Those thoughts aside for now, Kent practically skipped out of his apartment to the nearest liquor store. He bought a bottle of prosecco and then headed back to his place to get ready. He got another text from Dustin. 

**Dustin:** Hey, I completely fucked up, burnt the shit out of these mussels. Copping out and buying takeout. 

**Me:** I could not be judging you any less. 

**Dustin:** You would have ordered takeout without making an attempt to cook. 

**Me:** Bingo

**Dustin:** Food will still be here at about the same time. 

**Me:** Kk 

Kent walked to Snowy’s apartment, just two buildings over from his own, the doorperson ringing him up to Dustin’s floor. They knew him, as the two had been visiting back and forth the past week since returning for the homestand. 

Tonight was different, slightly. This was, by Dustin’s definition, their first “real” date. Kent wore his most obnoxiously bright white tux, one he’d bought for the all star game a few years back. He’d chosen to accent it with a red and black Aces bowtie. Dustin wanted to be cutesey and formal. Kent had to take it just a little too far. 

Kent knocked on Dustin’s door. Dustin opened it. Dustin wore a navy sportcoat, with a plain white dress shirt underneath, no tie. . He gave Kent a quick up-and-down and closed the door again. 

“Come onnnn!” Kent said, knocking on the door. 

The door reopened and Dustin quickly pulled him inside, wrapping him in a loose hug. 

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Dustin said. 

Kent smiled, resting his head in the dip of Dustin’s shoulder.

“I can take it off, if you want, babe.” Kent said, nonchalantly. 

Dustin buried his face in Kent’s chest and exhaled. Kent felt the heat of his breath through the fabric. 

“I changed my mind. I don’t want dinner with you anymore.” 

“Aww, but we’re having so much fun already!” Kent chirped. “I love the scented candle you’ve got going by the way.” 

“Thanks,” Dustin said, disentangling himself from Kent. “Its charred shellfish and warm vanilla sugar.” 

“Italian Yankee Candle is really on another goddamn level.” 

Dustin cracked a smile. Kent wanted to kiss him right now, but Dustin was caught up in some concept of “doing this right.” 

Dustin made him take his shoes off at the door. How very Canadian. Dustin then escorted Kent to the little breakfast nook the apartment had. The same one they had eaten and drank at before, but this time it was special. Because Dustin wanted it to be, so Kent played along.

“Shit, you’re going all out, putting the takeout on plates, is that a fucking bouquet?” Kent looked over at Dustin, sheepishly pouring his shitty beer into a pint glass. “God, for as much as you curse on ice, I would have never pictured you to be such a sap.” 

“I’m trying — to woo you!” he said, setting his glass on the table, a little too hard.

“I mean, fuckin’ mission accomplished.” 

Kent took his seat. Dustin had ordered some kind of seafood pasta, a local specialty that he must have been trying to recreate, before his stove turned on him. 

“Roses aren’t too much on the first date, are they?” Dustin said, taking his seat across from Kent. “Fuck, I should have just asked you what you liked.” 

“Dude, they’re fine!” Kent assured him, “You really think I think about shit like my favorite flower? I’m not a fancy lady from a romance novel. I’m a fuckin’ hockey bro that thinks wearing backwards caps is cool and I play beer pong all the time.” 

“This is just —” 

“The sort of stuff you normally do to impress a chick, right?” Kent saw the realization dawning on Dustin’s face. 

“And you’re — not a chick…” 

“Nope, not last I checked, anyway.” 

“So what the fuck do we do?” Dustin looked confused again. 

“Eat before the food gets cold, you dork.” 

“Right.” 

They started into the food, which was, of course, fantastic. Kent wasn’t sure he’d be able to get used to eating the shitty food in America again after this whole experience. Which meant he was probably going to have to try another cooking class. Dustin was silent while he ate and drank, significantly more so than usual. Then he finally broke the silence.

“Was it patronizing that I was treating you like I’d treat a girl?” 

“Not — Really?” Kent took a swig of his prosecco and continued. “It’s more like, you have a formula in your head for how dating is supposed to be, yeah? I think you’ve just been approaching dating the same way for a long time, so you went with your default.” 

“That makes sense.” 

“There are probably guys out there that would _love_ flowers and a “home cooked” meal and dressing up just to stay in.” 

“So you hate this?” 

“No, no not at all!” Kent backpedaled. “But it’s like, all the shit we’ve been through already, you know me. Your first impression’s been over, I know this isn’t you every day either.” 

“Okay, I get it. I’ve been thinking too hard.” Snowy nodded at his own realization. 

“Maybe a bit.” 

“So, we finish the food then, maybe we can watch something on TV?” 

“Shit, I wouldn’t have minded eating on the couch. You know, like we did two days ago?” 

“But then how is it a date?” Dustin asked. Kent shrugged. 

“It is because we say it is. Nobody’s out there enforcing dating.” 

“So we’ve basically been on a few dates already.” Dustin pointed out. 

“Sorta.” 

“How have I been this dumb?” 

“Probably heteronormativity,” Kent stated, matter of factly. “Also the Barcelona forwards bounced like 4 pucks off your mask yesterday.”

Dustin rolled his eyes at Kent. Kent figured this was going to become a routine for them.

“What the hell am I going to do with you, Parson?” 

“Kiss me, I hope.” 

Kent closed his eyes and leaned in across the table, hoping Dustin would oblige. That first kiss on the hillside in Nice had been so surprising, so electric. He could only hope that the second one lived up to the hype.

When their lips met this time, it wasn’t like before. The sparks and sweat were replaced by a smoldering burn. The feeling of Dustin’s lips on his warmed Kent from the inside out. This was; a hot cup of cocoa on a frigid day, dipping into a steamy bath after a rough game, coming home to his own bed, after two weeks in hotels. It was a glimpse into a fantastical future, with an aftertaste of beer and garlic, which Kent was willing to overlook, for now.

“That was fucking — incredible.” Kent breathed, after they seperated. 

“Yeah, it really fucking was.” Dustin was looking at him through lidded eyes. 

“Fuck, I don’t think I can focus on eating anymore.” 

“Me neither.” 

They moved to Dustin’s sofa, drinks and food forgotten. Their suit jackets and dress shirts tossed to the floor. They got cozy, cuddling and kissing, Dustin turned a show on at some point, but neither of them were paying any attention to it. Kent eventually got up and brought the bottle of prosecco over to the couch. He took a quick drink from the bottle and held it out to Dustin. 

“Nah, I — don’t think I should drink more tonight.”

“Suit yourself,” Kent said, taking another drink. He set the bottle on the floor next to them, then returned to his position, nestled between Dustin’s arms. 

“This is nice,” Dustin said. Simple, but effective. 

“Yeah.”

“God — what’s gonna happen if the team finds out?” 

Kent laughed. 

“They ignore us harder?” Kent suggested. He rubbed his cheek against Dustin’s. The stubble was scratchy, but fuck if he cared. Let _Vinny_ see the beard burn. “They fucking hate us anyway, dude, they know we’re temporary talent.” 

“Calling me dude in between fucking making out is really weird.” 

“Get used to it, _bro._ ” 

Dustin laughed, low and rumbly. Kent kissed his forehead. 

“And people say goalies are weird,” Dustin said.

“You’re super fucking weird,” Kent countered.

“Is calling your —” 

“Say what you need to say, _my guy_.” 

“Calling your boyfriend “bro” is weird as hell, Kent.” Dustin was blushing fiercely. 

“Oh so, we’re boyfriends?” Kent asked, pressing the issue. 

“I mean, if you wan—” Snowy scrambled to respond. 

“So you won’t mind if I —” Kent shut him up with another kiss, leading into more intense kissing, with tongue. Kent came up for air, smiling down at a flustered looking Snowy. 

“Yeah, I think we can be boyfriends,” Kent said, licking his lips. “Even if you are a weird art snob, who won’t even draw me.” 

“At least I don’t try to dive into a fucking river for the chance to pet a cat.” Dustin propped himself up on the couch to give Kent a quick peck. 

“It would have been worth it, besides, where else on earth would you even see that many cats in one day?” 

“Maybe you should go to the Tigers if you like Amsterdam so much.” Dustin stuck out his tongue at Kent. 

“Eh, I think I like the goalie here better.” Kent let himself fall on top of Dustin, crushing him under his body weight.

“Ugh,” Dustin groaned from beneath him. 

“Sorry, guess my arms got tired.” Kent flashed his award-winning smile at Dustin, then sat up. 

“Fuckin’ shit, you’re heavier than you look.” Dustin looked at the TV, which asked if they were still watching. “Christ, its almost midnight.” 

“I guess we lost track of time.” 

“Yeah, we should probably sleep.” 

“Do you mind if I stay?” Kent asked. 

Dustin’s blush traveled down his chest and over his arms. 

“I won’t rush you into anything, promise.” Kent meant it. 

“Okay.” 

They put the ice cold dinners back into the to-go boxes, tossed them in the fridge, and headed back to Dustin’s room. 

“So one thing,” Kent said. 

“I’m listening.” 

“I’m not going to sleep in dress pants, and I’d prefer not to sleep in the undershirt.” 

“My shirts might be wide for you but—” 

“I’m gonna strip to my boxers now.”

_X_ 

  
  


Dustin woke the next morning with a warm body next to him for the first time in months. And dear God, what a fucking body it was. He was half-excited by it, but still afraid he’d freeze up like he had in Nice if he actually went to the next level with Kent. He really wanted to, but he just wasn’t ready. 

Kent was lying face up, barely under the covers at all. His chest and abs and tacky poker chip boxers sticking out from underneath. Dustin kind of wanted to rub his hands over Kent right now, but he didn’t want to wake him either. 

He looked to his nightstand for his phone. 9:30, so not too late. Maybe he could try cooking again, breakfast to make up for failing at dinner. He noticed he had a missed call from Tater, from two hours ago. Tater was fucking awful about remembering time zones. 

**Me:** What’s up?

**Tater:** Not much. Back home in Moscow today. How are things, been weeks since we talk last. Want to video ? 

  
  


Snowy looked back to Kent, still lightly snoring in his bed. He was feeling brave, but he didn’t want to put Kent on the spot. 

**Me:** Nah, maybe tonight. 

**Me:** So… We’re best bros right? You’d never judge me or anything? 

**Tater:**??? Of course? 

Dustin sat up in bed, preparing himself for this conversation. Logically, he knew Tater was cool with it because of, well… Jack and Bitty, but what if? But Tater is his best friend on the team. God, it was going to be so hard to face his team when the lockout was over. Dating public enemy number one for the Falcs. 

**Tater:** Everything is alright? Something you want to tell? 

**Me:** I’ve got so fucking much I wanna tell you, Tater. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey! This fic came out so much more serious than I thought it would! This was meant to be such a dumb little thing and I ended up writing 10k out of nowhere. Thanks again for sticking with me and who knows, maybe we'll see more of these two in the future.


End file.
